


Unravel Me

by baby_banshee



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Dry Humping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Imprisonment, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation in Shower, Mental Health Issues, Moral Dilemmas, Morally Ambiguous Character, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Public Sex, Redemption, Restraints, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_banshee/pseuds/baby_banshee
Summary: There are many words that come to people’s minds when they hear the name Moff Gideon; imposing, cruel, intimidating, fierce...Father isn't one of those words. I am Moff Gideon's best-kept secret, forced to remain in his shadow, beneath his rule, and under his thumb for the mistakes my mother made. But I know my worth and I know that I can prove myself to him by hunting the Mandalorian down and returning the asset to my father. But things are never that simple and they often become tangled along the way.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. The Dream

_In the blazing sun I saw you  
In the shadows hiding from yourself  
When the lights are on I know you  
See you're grey from all the lies you tell_

* * *

I’m breathless as I stumble back into the wall deep within the Razor Crest, chest heaving, and eyes wide. A second flashes by like an eternity and then he’s in front of me. His hands grip my wrist, pinning them to the metal running behind me as he pushes one knee between mine. 

Desperately, I try to break free of his grip but there’s no use. He’s much too strong for me. And a part of me that I had been denying for weeks doesn’t want to break free. This is exactly where I want to be--where I’ve wanted to be since the moment I met him. 

But to admit that is to admit defeat and I cannot fail my task.

This man, this bounty hunter, was my enemy. I knew what I had to do, what must be done to restore my family to greatness.

“You lied to me,” The Mandalorian growls from behind his helmet. I hate that it arouses me to hear it and I hate even more that I want to hear him speak to me like that again. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”

He waits for my answer, the fingers around my wrist tightening in my silence. My chin quivers and I open my mouth to respond but my voice is silent. It’s too scared--too thrilled by what’s happening and doesn’t want to ruin it with words. 

I watch my breath fog the bottom part of the black, T-shaped visor cutting through the beskar of his helmet. He’s so close and I suck in a breath as he pushes closer. His thigh is high between my own, pressing into the most intimate part of my body and it feels so good my vision blurs. Does he know what he’s doing to me?

Somehow, I find my voice. “You’ll have to kill me.”

I don’t want him to, but I know there is no other way out of this. Either I die, or he does. Knowing this only fans the flames burning inside me and I glance down between where my chest presses into the plate of armor covering his. My breasts are pushed into the beskar and I watch with every breath as he comes closer and closer until there is no more room between us.

Slowly, inch by inch, he brings my wrists together above my head and pins them there with one hand. I can only watch, helpless and hopeless, as he brushes the back of his gloved fingers down the length of my jaw. They dip to my chin, down the curve of my throat until they’re tracing over my breast. When he pulls his hand away entirely, I gasp and close my eyes.

I know what’s coming and I still cannot force my eyes to open. I hear the brush of gloves against the metal of his helmet, can feel his elbow brush against mine as he lifts it from his head. The air is so hot between us, so thick with all of the tension and desire I’ve felt for him, so heavy with the hope that I’ve held on to that perhaps this foolish crush I have isn’t one-sided. 

I want him to want me. 

I want him to desire me as badly as I desire him.

I want to feel him inside me.

The warmth of his breath puffing against my throat pulls the air from my lungs so quickly, my chest arches to follow it. And then his lips are on my jaw, right beneath my earlobe and my legs are quivering. I’m thankful for his thigh and his hand keeping me pinned in place. 

“Oh, I’m going to kill you,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, making heat pulse through me with every syllable he murmurs. As he trails his lips down my jaw and I feel the brush of his lips just beneath mine, I cannot hold back the whimper that escapes my throat. “But first…”

The Mandalorian that I know must die by my hand, the man that I’ve grown to know and not hate and  _ want _ more than I know that I should, does the one thing I’ve been dreaming about. He kisses me and it’s better than any fantasy I could dream up. His lips are warm; soft but anything but gentle. He kisses me the way I want him to. 

My fingers are going numb from the tight grip he has around my wrists and I struggle against his hand. All I want is to slip my hands beneath his beskar armor and pull it off of him until he’s wearing nothing. He doesn’t let me. He’s in complete control.

I feel his lips urge mine open and I oblige. A moment later, his tongue is slick and hot against mine and I drink him in until I’m intoxicated by his taste. I don’t want this to end, yet I want more. The anticipation of what will come next makes me tremble and between my legs, the Mandalorian presses his knee into my center. Pleasure ripples through me and a moan is pulled from my throat that he drinks into his mouth.

At once, his hand releases my own and they fall to his shoulders, knowing where to go without me having to even think about it. The sound of his beskar chest plate dropping to the floor is like music to my ears and I rake my nails down the material of his flight suit beneath it. His body heat radiates between us and I’ve never felt anything so good.

Too soon, his lips leave my own and I start to cry out in protest until I feel his kiss my throat. He tastes the salt on my skin, searing my flesh as he ducks lower and lower. I feel the glove covering his palm brush against my breast and the gasp of surprise I let out quickly turns into a moan of pleasure. 

I want to keep this feeling alive forever. 

I want to feel his mouth all over my body, tasting places I’m too ashamed to admit out loud. I want to look down and see his face between my legs.

Slowly, my eyelids part and I can see the blur of his form between my lashes. He’s nearly kneeling in front of me, using his mouth on my nipples to make me gasp and sigh in approval. My hand lifts and I push it through his hair. It’s softer than I imagined it would be and slick with a bit of sweat. 

I see us outside of my body. 

Him still keeping me pushed against the wall and me with my head back, lips parted in a silent cry of pleasure. But there’s someone else there too...someone I was horrified to see.

In the shadows of the Razor Crest’s underbelly stands Moff Gideon. He’s darkened by the shadows but I see him as clearly as if he were in the light. There’s malice in his cold gaze and I try to scream at myself, to warn the bounty hunter, but my voice has disappeared. All I can do is float above us and watch in horror as my father sees what a failure I am.

I was supposed to kill the Mandalorian.

I was supposed to bring the child to him.

And I failed.

With a gasp piercing through my chest, I wake with a start. My head smacks against the ceiling of the narrow, cramped bunk that I’ve been sleeping in the past few weeks and I wince. I still wasn’t used to the size. But it isn’t the bunk that has me sweating and panting for breath.

The dream is still so fresh in my head though the edges of the memories are fading. I’m horrified at the thought that I might have been making sounds in my sleep. If the Mandalorian heard me, if I had moaned too loud...Hopefully, he was too busy with whatever he was doing up above me in the ship. I don’t want to think about him listening to me panting. It’s already humiliating knowing my subconscious was conjuring things up the way it was. I refuse to believe it’s anything but the multitude of my doubts and uncertainty getting to me. 

My skin is damp from the sweat and I swipe at the hair sticking to my forehead. I kick the sheets from my legs and sit forward, putting my head between my knees. 

There isn’t much room, but it helps to calm myself down after the dream. Or had it been a nightmare? I’m not sure. All I know is that it is a warning. I need to stop this foolishness and do what I had been sent to do. 

It’s the only way to prove myself to my father--to the empire. 

I can’t fail.  
  


I will kill the Mandalorian and bring the child to my father.

* * *


	2. The Price

* * *

There are many words that come to people’s minds when they hear the name, Moff Gideon. Imposing, cruel, intimidating, fierce. The list could go on for days and not once will the word  _ father _ come into anyone’s head. Most of the other officers and generals have no idea he is a father at all, or that, at one time, he was married. Most people have no idea his daughter even exists or that she’s kept in his shadow.

I am Moff Gideon's best-kept secret, only known to the officers and soldiers under his direct command and very few others. But that's fine. I like it this way. For the most part, I'm left alone to do as I please, left alone with no one to speak to but myself.

Occasionally, my father will give me orders but it's never anything more than sparring sessions or tutoring to further my knowledge of the Empire's vast history. All pointless.

I never leave the base, never stray too far from his side long enough to put any of that knowledge and training to use, and while I know that most people would see that as a father being protective of his only child, that couldn't be further from the truth. There's nothing loving behind the reasons my father keeps a close watch on me.

A man like Moff Gideon doesn't know what love is.

He knows duty, determination, cruelty, and the Empire.

And I'm only kept on a short leash because otherwise, my failures would bring an embarrassment to him--to the Empire--that he will not stand for. So he accommodates for my existence by keeping me close, to keep a watch. To make sure that I cannot ruin my life and his duties like my mother did.

I sigh and lean into my hand, resting my chin against my palm as I read over the multitude of amendments added to the Galactic Constitution years before I was even born. The lessons come in over the computer system and I am left in my quarters with nothing else to do but read through hundreds of years of history.

And while I'd rather be sparring with the training droids or doing  _ anything _ else, I'm thankful that in a ship full of my father's subordinates, I'm allowed my privacy. Of course, that privacy means nothing when it is interrupted by a voice on the comm system behind me.

The speaker beside my door crackles to life and I turn in my chair to face it as the voice speaks. "Your father requests your presence on the bridge."

Another sigh leaves my lips and I nod, though there is no one in my room but me. It's strange how hearing such a simple request fills me with dread. How do other daughters feel when their father calls for them? Happy? Safe?

Standing to my feet, I reach down to the computer display and turn it off before stepping away from the desk built into the wall. I smooth my hands down my vest and glance to the stretch of windows to my left. My reflection stares back at me and I run a hand over my hair, making sure to smooth down the tiny hairs that I can never tame on my temples.

Even with my hair twisted tightly into a bun and secured at the back of my hair, I can see the strands wanting to curl. They bunch up close to my scalp and leave gaps that make my appearance look disheveled in the eyes of my father. There's no helping it now. He doesn't like to be kept waiting and I'm not in the mood to hear his reprimands.

I tug the ends of my sleeves down and move toward the door. It opens with a hiss and I'm surprised to find a lone trooper waiting for me. His blaster is at his side and his arms hang stiffly on either side of him. The urge to roll my eyes is strong but I resist and fall in line behind him.

It seems that I cannot be trusted with even the simplest task of walking the short distance from my private quarters to the bridge. There's one turn to the left and one to the right and within forty seconds, the trooper steps aside at the entrance of the bridge.

There is a team working the navigation controls and the comm units but it is my father's dark presence in the center of the room near the holo display that immediately grabs my attention. His back is to me, hands clasped behind him as he stares down at the blue image of a hologram on the display.

It's a building, with tunnels and a landing area on top, but other than that, I have no idea what he's looking at. And when he notices my presence, he waves his hand across the hologram to make it disappear. He doesn't face me but when he lifts his head to peer out into the vastness of space, I make my way to his side.

"Claudia," he says my name quietly but firmly and I swallow before lifting my gaze to his face. "I trust you've completed your assignments for the day."

It isn't a question and I try to keep myself from flinching. These are always the moments when the intimidation he has overcomes me and I'm left unable to decide between the two choices. Do I lie to him now to save face in front of his officers, or do I tell him the truth and have to hear the disappointment in his voice when he scolds me.

I decide on the former--vowing to hurry back to my quarters to finish my lesson before he can check the logs--and nod, bringing my hands together in front of me. "Yes, sir."

One of the officers at the navigation panel glances toward us and the look is only fleeting, but I see the derision behind his eyes. The heat of humiliation flares inside me and I wonder how many other children have to answer to their father in this way.

Beside me, Gideon turns slightly, enough to whip my attention away from the officer and I catch the doubt etched into the corners of his mouth. That sting of humiliation quickly shifts into shame and I lower my head. He makes his way to the glass stretching in front of the ship's main control panel and I follow him.

"Need I remind you how important it is to keep track of your studies?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Then there must be another reason why your identification number was not logged into the program this morning. A mistake in the system?"

Shame and panic clench tightly in my stomach and I take a deep breath, cursing myself for trembling. "No, sir. I took an extra sparring session with the droids. I thought that--"

"Your sparring lessons do not take priority over your tutoring, Claudia. Unless you're confident in your knowledge enough to assume you no longer need it." In the glass, I see his reflection and watch his eyebrows lift. He's trapping me and I know it, but there's no way around it. I let out a breath that shudders in my chest and shake my head.

"No, sir--"

"Then perhaps it would be wise to double your tutoring. Six hours a day, instead of three."

"But father--"

Silence falls over the entire bridge and my eyes flicker away from the man in front of me to find that nearly every other office is looking our way. They don't even try to hide their stares and my face burns hot. Sweat builds under my arms and along the small of my back and I lower my head before correcting myself. I don't even need to see the look in my father's eyes. I can feel it piercing through me.

"Yes, Moff Gideon."

For several seconds, he says nothing and the temptation to glance up at him is nearly too strong to resist. I force my gaze downward, at the tips of my boots. My tension settles tightly along my shoulders and neck and I feel a headache creeping up the back of my skull.

"Then you are dismissed."

.

.

I hear the rumors about this Mandalorian that has caused so many problems for my father before I ever see him. The black market port on Trask that the intel brings me to is alive with gossip about the pirate Mandalorians and the new one that has reportedly joined their ranks. And when I hear a Quarren speaking about a strange baby in the new Mandalorian’s possession, I know he’s the one.

The inhabitants of the port are no strangers to the empire and I’m thankful that no one asks too many questions when I exchange my credits for Calamari Flan. While I stand on the port, dealing with the Quarren who counts out my Imperial credits to make the exchange, I glance to the shipyard. 

It’s easy to find the one that sticks out like a sore thumb and I watch two Mon Calamari use tools to repair one of the legs of the landing gear. The ropes and netting they use to hold it together don’t seem promising, and I wonder if the ship will even get off the dock. 

“Here,” the Quarren says in a gruff voice that pulls my attention back to him. He holds out a sack of Flan that isn’t quite as full as it had been with my previous credits. I frown but don’t argue.

No need to cause any trouble. 

Holding back the need to sigh, I take the pouch and slip it into the pocket of the coat I had acquired earlier in the day. Hopefully whoever it had previously belonged to wouldn’t miss it too much. But strolling up to the Mandalorian’s crest dressed as if I had just stepped off an Imperial cruiser isn’t going to work.

The Quarren steps away from me, counting the credits in his hand and I pull the hood of my coat up around my ears. There’s very little chance that someone here will recognize me, but the fear still plagues me. 

Thinking about what I would face if I were found out made the ball of knots that had been sitting in my stomach like a stone the past few weeks tighten painfully. I put a hand to my midsection and swallow down the persistent urge to gag. Behind my eyelids, I can see my father’s face full of disappointment and fury and knew that was what was waiting for me when I return.

He wouldn't understand the reasons I left--would never want to know the purpose of my actions. It would be seen as a betrayal and my punishment would be harsh. But if I succeeded, if I returned this Mandalorian and the asset to my father then maybe, he would no longer see me as someone he had to be ashamed of.

I have to stop thinking of ifs.

_ When _ I return the asset to my father…

Across the shipyard, the Mon Calamari working on the Mandalorian’s ship are finishing up and I square my shoulders, pushing back the thoughts that make me want to throw up, and move. There isn’t much of a crowd on the docks this morning and I manage to weave my way through the numerous crates and supplies without bumping into anyone else. The Razor Crest looms ahead of me and the closer I get to it, the more I doubt its ability to make it off the dock.

It only adds to the ball of worry inside me. How can I prove my worth to my father if I die in this hunk of junk? 

A couple of Quarren pass me and I step aside to let them before moving around the back of the Mandalorian’s ship. One of the duel engines looms over my head. A metal panel hangs off of the large cylinder, held on by a single bolt. 

I stand there, peering up at the ship’s hasty, haphazard repairs, and feel the creeping doubts start to settle inside me all over again. 

What am I doing? 

How can I expect to accomplish anything? I’ve barely been out from my father’s shadow my entire life and here I am, far away on some outer rim port, thinking I can prove myself? I’m nothing more than an insolent child and every moment I spend in this delusion, I only prove Gideon right.

My stomach pitches and the smell of fish and the salty ocean air are suddenly too much to me. I cross to the landing gear and brace myself against it. The need to vomit was pressing at the back of my throat and I gag, slapping a hand to my mouth. 

I squeeze my eyes shut and listen to all the whispers of doubt circling through my head. What a stupid girl I am to think I can do anything right. I will always be the mistake my father knows I am. It’s in my best interest to find my way back to him and beg forgiveness--no matter how badly it will hurt to see that look in his eyes.

But before I can spill the contents of my lunch on the dock, a pair of voices distract me and I realize that whoever it is is too close to the ship. Crouching, beneath the landing gear, I can see a pair of legs covered in metal armor standing next to the Mon Calamari in his fishing waders. 

My eyes go wide and I crouch lower. I can’t see all of the Mandalorian from my position but there is a bag hanging across his body and resting on his hip. Inside, there’s something moving and from just beneath the flap, a flap of green pokes out. 

The  _ asset _ …

That unsettled feeling in my stomach is still there but I’m able to swallow it down as the Mandalorian steps away from the Mon Calamari. How in the world am I supposed to do this? I had found him but now what? 

Though I had trained with combat droids, I know I’m nowhere near skilled enough to fight someone belonging to a race of warriors. I would have to figure out a different way to go about this. And my time was quickly running out.

I stand to my full height and step over the foot of the landing gear, wracking my brain for a possible plan. From here, I can no longer see the Mandalorian, and I know I need to get out from beneath this hunk of junk before he turns those engines on. Wouldn’t want this thing to fall out of the sky on top of me. Which is exactly what looks like will happen once he starts it up.

Closing my jacket tighter around me, I duck beneath the hood once more and hurry around the back of the ship. Between a couple of crates and the back gangway of the Razor Crest, I slam into the hard, armor covered body of the Mandalorian. 

I stumble back, my heels dangerously close to the edge of the dock and the water below. My arms cartwheel for a moment before I regain my balance and blink up at the metal helmet pointing right at me. Everything slows to a stop within me--no thoughts, no air leaving or entering my lungs. I’m suspended in limbo. The only thing that moves is my mouth as I open and close it, completely at a loss.

“Any reason why you’re sneaking around my ship?”

His voice, deep and slightly distorted through the modulator of his helmet surprises me and I shake my head. “No.”

“Then why  _ are _ you sneaking around my ship?”

“I…”  _ Damn _ ...I didn’t have a good enough reason. Quickly, I glance to the docks stretching behind him and see the Quarren I had dealt with earlier. My brain finally catches up to the situation and I blink my attention back to the Mandalorian. “I need passage off of Trask.”

He says nothing and turns on his heel, the tattered ends of his cloak brushing over the crate next to me. Without turning around, he calls after me. “I’m no longer a taxi service.” 

_ Damn _ .

Scrambling, I follow after him and glance quickly at the others on the dock. None seem to pay much attention to us, but the idea of anyone noticing me still wreaks havoc on my nerves. I catch up to the Mandalorian as he lowers the gangway on the side of his ship. It rumbles in protest and the plank trembles, catches on a net, and finally falls to the dock.

“Please,” I say, staring into the ship. How did this man keep eluding the Empire when  _ this _ was his ship. Surely something as junky as his Razor Crest would be easy to find--even in the expanse of the Outer Rim. I snatch the pouch of Flan from my hip and shake it. The sound didn’t carry the same heft as Imperial credits and I frown. “I can pay you.”

He doesn’t listen, too busy assessing the repairs done to his ship. When he sighs, I step closer and extend the pouch to him. The back of my hand brushes against the cold beskar of his vambrace and he turns to glance at me. The visor of his helmet follows the length of my arm down to the sack of credits before lifting to stare at me again.

“ _ Handsomely _ ,” I add, once again shaking the pouch. It’s all of my credits, but it doesn’t matter. A small price to pay in the long run. 

For a moment, the Mandalorian stands there and stares at me. The longer the seconds tick by, the more the sweat starts to bead up beneath my arms and I blink. Slowly, I lower my arm and try to think up another plan. If he declines, I will have no choice but to follow him in another ship and the traders around the port didn’t seem to be the kind of pilots that would drop everything to hunt a Mandalorian.

No matter how much Flan I had to offer.

“Look,” he starts, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sure you’re good for it, but I need to lay low and get some actual repairs for my ship--” he emphasizes this by looking up at the stretch of rope holding the engine parts together. “--I don’t have time to take you anywhere.”

He brushes past me and I watch him walk his way up the gangway, my chances of proving my father wrong slipping away with every step. I hurry after him and step onto the ramp, using the only leverage that I knew I could use. It was stupid and dangerous and could possibly get me killed where I stand, but I couldn’t let him slip through my fingers.

“I know who you’re running from.”

He comes to a stop at the top of the ramp and I notice his hand move to the blaster in the holster at his hip. He doesn’t grab it, but I know he can snatch it and fire off a bolt in seconds. Far too fast for me to dodge.

“It’s who I’m running from as well.” At my words, the Mandalorian slowly turns on his heel and peers down at me. My eyes dart to the sea stretching endlessly away from the port and I swallow. All I can do is hope that the little white lies I had used on my father throughout the years--the ones about my studies and the treats I would hide in my room for him--would pay off. Hopefully, the Mandalorian wouldn’t be able to see through the lies the way Gideon could. “I just want to get away from them.”

At that moment, I would say anything to get on this ship and bring myself one step closer to securing the asset hanging in the bag on his hip. I force myself not to look at it. 

“I’m not trying to bring any extra heat on myself.”

“I can offer you every piece of Flan I have…” My voice nearly cracks and I swallow it down. “And information about Moff Gideon.”

* * *


End file.
